Tuesday, December 29, 2009


Well, here I sit sick. I seem to have finally succumbed to the cold that my siblings had last week. So, what am I to do while my head pounds and my throat aches? Why, write of course!

I suppose we’ve known each other long enough (or not) to let you in on a little tidbit about myself:  I am quite sorry to say that I am a hopeless Enthusiast. Ok, I can see that you haven’t a clue as to what I am talking about.

To put it plainly, I am quite easily excited about new/old things that I come across and can end up seeming like an obsessive. But I’m not. I struggled with myself this year when I began to worry about my seeming ease as becoming obsessive over something I like. Do not fear for your safety! I have, as of yet, never obsessed over a person. It seems that my strong love of something leans more towards dead authors, musicians, period dramas, and books than it does actual people.  But, as I was saying, I decided to diagnose myself seeing as I knew for a fact that I was not and am not an obsessive.

I term it: an Enthusiast-Who-Takes-Action.  One interesting thing about my Enthusiasm is that it takes action (pity the person who tells me that they wish they could go to that concert….for I will find a way!). Many a pay check has been spent in buying up all of Jane Austen’s books, all of John Keats’s works, or on that stray concert I just HAD to go to.  And I will pull any and all in with me!

Yet, the saddest part about being an Enthusiast is that at some point the great excitement and enthusiasm slows down to a mere simmer. You suddenly realize that you don’t really want to live in Narnia. That the Lord of the Rings movies are NOT the best movies ever made. That Jane Austen is a dead authoress who will not rise from the grave to write one more book.  That the Phantom of the Opera was a bit of an obsessive stalker. That your life dream is not to play the guitar on street corners.

But one only thing makes an Enthusiast happy – the friends who egg us on, join us on those crazy adventures, buy those over priced concert tickets, and all in all make life as an Enthusiast-Who-Takes-Action worth it. So here’s to you my friends – I raise my glass!

With lots of craic, sniffles, and coughes,
~Aithne Someris~

Sunday, December 20, 2009

The Chasm of the Future

I stand at the edge of a chasm
My steps halted by uncertainty
My eyes unable to behold the bottom
The future could be lofty
The future could blossom

But for now I stand
Stuck upon the sand
Frozen in quiet confusion
Unsure of my next step
Awaiting a sign

Two options are spread before me:
One, to build a bridge
Across this chasm of life
To the other side which holds

The second is more daring:
To leap
Into the darkness that encroaches

My eyes look down below:
Is the darkness fear?
Or is it death?
The ruining of my soul?
Or the creation of a life lived to the full?

I being to pace
The edge of this canyon
Threatens to swallow me up

I search for guidance:
A word
A sign
A picture in the sky

To leap or to build a bridge…?

(not really sure if this is done yet....)

~Blindness~ >>>------------> Expanded to video version!


I recently found the Windows Movie Maker on my computer and I've taken to playing around with it. I decided to spend the last two days trying to get my poem 'Blindness' to pictures and music, which ended up being harder than I thought! Buuuuut, this is what I got. Be nice; it's a first try!

But please, go ahead and check it out - let me know what you think....I may do another one but use different music for it. Still working on my movie making skills.

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Bits & Pieces

Well, here are a few scraps of poems that have never really been finished....or maybe they have and I jut don't know it yet.....


~The Future ~

Blinding in brilliance, yet full of fear
My heart beats faster as it draws near
So high to climb yet far to fall
My life is but a flicker on this celestial ball

 Before a plan was always held
Every step already decided and beheld
Now the road is gone
My feet are now frozen in the bog
My eyes veiled by heavy smog

Reluctance joins with anticipation
My journey started with hesitation
I feel bipolar in my joy


Straining against the ties that bind us here
On this celestial sphere
The divine magnet pulls us near
Pleading with us to hear

Throbbing, my soul draws to him
With luminecent face
Christ wipes away my disgrace
Bringing about from ashes - lace

With eyes unveiled, I gasp in awe
The Lord smiles at my open maw
Laid out are His wonders
Beauty and splendor without number
A thousand splendid summers


~ Good & Evil ~

Evil stirs, sure to inflict burns
A tower of light, to be seen in the night
Truth and love, all of the above
One dark lord will bring the sword
One King of Light will fight the good fight
The fight brings a clash, then a slash
The dark lord seethes, lies he flings
 Light shines forth truth, lies it will smooth
Darkness creeps forward, ever moreward
And yet Light prevailes, ever on it sails


~ The Darkness Assails Me ~

Long taloned fingers grasp my head and heart

For a moment they latch on, tearing at my soul

But He raises in my defense - throwing them from me

In righteous anger He banishes them

Turning his face to me He sooths my terror

I am secure in His arms - His hold will not fail

I tell Him all, and emotions flicker over His face

Joy, pain, laughter, hurt, pride, and sighs

"Stay ever with me" He repeats to me

"Keep my letters close to your heart" He says

"Clutch My words deep within your soul" He pleads


The rest I fear is not worth getting on here. I hope to have some more new stuff soon!

Sunday, December 6, 2009

~The Pen~

~ The Pen  ~

Scratching across the page
A best friend in the worst of times
Repeating my words and rhymes
My heart flowing from me in black lines
An instrument of my soul
Meets with paper to make music
Lyrics of my thoughts
Yet, unable to fully relay my words
To their complete meaning
I stop
My pen raised my in hand

My brow wrinkled in thought
I begin to chew the end, till
I smile again with a new thought
Scratch goes the pen once more
Again the meeting of the pen and paper
Give off satisfactory results
The words become me

And I become the words
With only the pen between us
My grip tightens and my heart expands
Before my eyes the hand and pen become one

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

~The Call of the Sea~

I see this poem as being what a retired sailor felt as he looked out over the sea from a cliff - knowing that his time was over, but still feeling the call of the sea ringing in his ears...a bit melodramatic, I know...

~The Call of the Sea~

Roaring, crashing, calling my name
I long for her, I yearn for her
Her salty aura will not leave my nose
The visage of her roiling depths engraved on my soul
My heart beats in time with her rise and fall
My gnarled hands can only feel rope
My feet cannot traverse a floor that does not shift with the wind
The suns’ rays glint off her – teasing me
“Come away with me” she calls
It pains me to see her O’ so close
Blues, greens, grays and blacks

Ever changing – as moody as a mermaid
A sailor I was and a sailor I am
My blood is tainted by the water
My skin roasted by the sun
My eyes are ever glued to the horizon
But my time has passed – I am now exiled to land
I am suffocating – slowly suffocating
This air is foul and filled with humanity
O’ to again feel the caress of a sea sigh

Thursday, November 19, 2009


I spent all day in Starbucks and Panara with nothing but pen, paper, coffee, and an iPod set on Ludovico Einaudi (AMAZING composer!). This poem is basically inspired from parts of the Bible that talk of how ones eyes are closed to Christ until He opens them for you to see His glory.

*this has not been edited and I don't think I'm finished with it....maybe a revised version will come soon*


The world is plain for all I see
Shadowed with despair is the vision I see
Sharp, cold and cruel with no majesty
Filled to the brim with tragedy

Black, brown and grey confusion
My head spins with delusion
Hope is suffocated by dark fears
My soul sits in a corner while darkness jeers

What hope is there for my veiled eyes?
Shrouded in wait for my demise
No power on Earth can bring light
No Earthly idol can grant me sight

Suddenly, a soft glow draws near
A warm voice begins to whisper in my ear
The crushing darkness slowly fades
His words leave me amazed

As His soothing voice grows louder
The darkness recedes at His power
Light begins to stream through me
The curtain is drawn back, now I see

A symphony of colors threaten to overpower
My virgin eyes with the shower
His utter grace and beauty revealed to me
My unworthy eyes are awash in a tumultuous sea

Who am I that sight is granted?
I whose sight was stranded
Upon the isle of death and darkness
My eyes only seeing starkness

An yet with a word He has given
Me the clean sight of the forgiven
The glorious vision of His love
Gives me the power to push back darkness with a shove

Thursday, August 27, 2009

A new short story! (unamed as of yet)

I apologize for not having posted anything in the past few months, but life has been utterly crazy! This next post is only going the be a short story. This will be part one and I hope to have part two ready for viewing soon! And please keep in mind that this is a short story, so if things seem to move rapidly - it's supposed to be that way.


I clutched my ragged blue cloak closer to myself. Shaking with cold, I pushed through the branches of the forest. Deeper and deeper I trudged; so deep that I was soon engulfed in the dark green fog of branches and tree limbs. The old giants towered over me and the knowledge that the wood was thousands of years older than me was becoming more and more obvious. Tears blinded my eyes as I continued to stumble through the forest.

“Bring me a basket of fresh strawberries, Lily. A whole basket full.” My mistress had ordered. Never mind the fact that it was the end of summer and now nearing the middle of the Autumn season. “Bring me some by tomorrow.” She had demanded with eyes narrowed to small slits. If I did not bring her the desired berries, she would have her fiery husband to beat me within an inch of my life. Disobedience was not tolerated with the Lord and Lady of whom I had been sold.

With her words echoing in my ear, I had gathered up my worn out cloak and wicker basket to set out. As I proceeded across the fields to the woods, my eyes had been caught by the sight of an ominous storm moving in from the east. Was not even the weather on my side?

Exhausted, I collapsed at the base of a large oak to rest my weary limbs. I had been walking all day. No berries had been seen by me so far. I shook my head, as if there would be any out at this time of the year. My mistresses’ wish was obvious: to kill me in a way that would allow me to suffer before death. False hope was her choice. Find berries: live. Don’t find berries: die. My heavy eyes had only just closed when I heard a voice directed to me.

“I say, what are you doing out here?”

My lifted eyes revealed a young man high up in the tree at the base of which I sat. He seemed to be of my own age, and devastatingly fair. He sat on a tree limb with a mischievous grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“I… I’m looking for strawberries.” I managed to stutter out. The damp air had chilled me to the bone. Yet, the young man looked none the worse for wear despite the rain.

At my answer his eye brows lifted and a rich laugh filled the air, “Well then,” He said as he swung down from his perch, “I’m afraid that I have to inform you that you’re in sore luck if that is what you seek.”

“That is something I already know, sir. But I must find some.” I stated this with much more determination than I truly felt.

“Well then,” said the young man as he offered a hand to help me to my feet, “There is another storm fast approaching, and I know someone who can help you with that which you seek.”

I sat for a moment in indecision. His hand in the air, a question in and of itself. An icy wind blew through the trees and my mind was made up. What did I have to loose anyway? My hand rose up and was clasped in his large one.

“Do you really know someone who can help me?” I questioned in a doubtful voice.

He brought me to my feet and his mouth turned up in a smile, “Yes.” He said it so confidently that I almost believed him.

“If that is so,” I said smiling back at him, “Lead the way.”

With a flourish, he grabbed up my wicker basket and offered his arm to me. After I took it he led me deeper into the woods at a fairly fast pace. In fact, the rapidity of his walk only solidified the knowledge that he acted as though he had lived in the woods his entire life. Sense of direction seemed to be as innate as his sense of sight.

“Won’t be much farther.” Fagan (for that was the name he gave me) said after we had walked for a quarter of an hour. The words had barely left his mouth when we reached a slight knoll in the midst of a small clearing. The rain had just begun as a light drizzle, but the worst was yet to come. For a moment I stood there awkwardly, I could not see anyone there who could help me. And there was no area of shelter in the clearing that would be a reason for us to be here. But Fagan just smiled and knelt at an out cropping of rocks and began to push aside the leaves that covered them. As I watched, a crack soon appeared between two large boulders. This widened to become a large slit through which a human could squeeze.

“Come.” Fagan said as he motioned for me to go down into the depths of the Earth with him. For a moment I stood frozen. My mind was arguing against Fagan, but something deep within my said yes. Even today I can’t tell you what possessed me to put my pale hand into his as he led me down into the darkness.

Down down down we went until I couldn’t even see him as his warm hand pulled me deeper.

“Almost there.” His deep voice echoed in the thin air of the tunnel.

Before I knew it, there was light. Light and sound. I was momentarily blinded, and as I stood there with hands over my eyes my ears listened to the most inhuman sound. Music that I couldn’t even begin to describe was wafting through the air to my unworthy ears. Played on instruments that I am sure no human has ever dreamed of or brushed their hand against. A low hum of voices also permeated the area, lilting accents dominated until all grew into a hush as I realized that more and more saw a stranger in their midst. As my hands nervously fell from my eyes, the sight that met them was utterly breath taking.

My eyes fell greedily on the array of colors and patterns before me. The lightest reds, the most vibrant yellows, the richest browns, and every color in-between were thrown into my face. All these colors clothed creatures my mind raced to name. In one corner, I could see Fauns sipping a deep amethyst liquid from tall thin vials. On the other side of the room hovered Fey Folk of every shape and size knowable and unknowable to man. These were lapping up a richly golden liquid from large cupped flowers. At the head of the hall sat a royally adorned couple on thrones of Autumn leaves and branches. As I looked on at the creatures assembled and how they were clothed I quickly came to the realization that this was the Autumn Court of the Fey Folk. The great king that sat enthroned with the regal woman was the King of the Seelie Autumn Court.

Although all took note that I was there, none approached us. Taking my hand in his, Fagan gently pulled me through the crowd. I soon became self conscious of my state of apparel. Here I stood with dirt and rain streaked down my face. My ragged blue cloak hung limply on me from its time in the rain, and I pulled it closer to myself. I felt utterly unworthy to be here among the angels who filled this place.

“Father,” Said Fagan as he dipped in a shallow bow before the Autumn king. I started in shock at his reference to the king. He was the son of Autumn and his faerie queen? As my head swiveled from father to son I soon saw that the resemblance was not between father and son, but between mother and son. Everyone in the village of Clun knew how the Autumn king had come to be, and my mind went back to the tale.
The story goes that a young man had gone off from his family to find his place in the world. He traveled the country, traversing old roads and forging new paths, but never was he able to find his true place. One night as he sat resting from his wonderings a beautiful woman came to him from out of the thick wood by which he sat. She carried no bag, was escorted by no man, no shoes were upon her feet, yet she walked confidently towards the lone man sitting alone staring at the night sky. His eyes soon landed on the delicate woman who walked to him but made not a sound. Once she approached him she lifted on white arm in a gesture of beckoning. Without knowing why or how, the young man soon found himself following the ethereal beauty into the woods. The legend goes that the mysterious woman was actually a faerie of high rank who sought a mate to hold the Autumn throne and in return she gave a longevity of life that no man reached today.
But all this was just a story told around the fire during the long dank dark months of winter. I blinked at the dignified king seated before me. Could this be the same man who dared the world to give him a place? I looked toward the Fagan, their son. How old was he? The story of the Autumn king had been around for generations. Where did this place their offspring?
All of a sudden, a thudding clap of thunder rocked the hall in which we were standing. My eyes went strait to the ceiling, expecting it to crash down on us at any moment. But the Fey Folk merely tittered to themselves while the Fauns refilled their now empty vials of the purple drink. The prince (for that is what he was) did not even stop mid speech regardless of the storm that raged above us. Fagan told them of how he had found me and brought me here for safety from the storm and for help, while his parents listened on with such blank faces that I truly could not fathom what they thought of their sons’ actions. When at last Fagan had finished, they sat in silence for a moment.
“A basket full of strawberries, you say?" And with that, the Autumn king burst into a fit of laughter that rumbled across the hall.
“Yes Sir.” I answered timidly. Getting laughed at was something I was used to, but at the same time it never lessoned the sting of it.
“And why, might I ask, are you looking for strawberries at this time of year?”

More to come soon! Comments are welcome!
~Aithne Someris~

Thursday, July 23, 2009

Chapters X & XI (Eleanor's Side of the Story)

Again, this is part of the story that I am collaborating on with a good friend of mine. To read the start of the story, go to: www.notightsallowed.blogspot.com!

Chapter X
~The carving, Breath, Little John~

The wind seemed to caress my face as I left the yard of the house. The sun had only just come up and was still peeking halfway through the trees that abutted our land on the far left. I made my way to the right where two miles down the road was Sherwood Forest and a large hill that sloped steeply up to meet the dense green foliage. I didn’t care that I had on my best dress; my deepest desire was to be alone with no worries hanging over my head and the hill that rose to meet the Wood was my best bet for that.

It didn’t take me long to reach the hill, and I was soon climbing to gain the first row of trees that gave shade, for by now the sun had rose and was ascending still. Upon reaching the trees, I looked for the barely discernable deer path that my mother had pointed out to me early in my childhood. There… there it was; still leading into the dark foreboding forest that had been our haunt for many an outing. I wrapped my deep green and rich blue shawl tighter around me as I pushed back the hanging branches and ventured deep into Sherwood Forest. The Wood was ancient and I was not the first to dare step in, although it had been years since anyone had walked or hunted this area of the Wood. As I pushed on, I could see my destination with the help of the green and gold light that filtered through the trees high over head. A clearing was where the ancient deer path led. A small clearing with one tree centered in the middle as if holding court with all the other young trees that stood at attention beside it. An oak. Its trunk was so massive that I would never be able to reach my arms all the way around it. Neither could my father’s long war strengthened arms. As I approached the tree, I could still see the carving near the bottom: Eleanor, First Daughter of Wilhelm of Kenton Hall. My work worn fingers traced the deep groves in the tree. My mother had done it a week after I was born and had brought me up here year after year to remind me.

I sat down under the great royal tree and for a moment just allowed my eyes to remain closed as I sat and just breathed. When was the last time I had been able to just breathe? Ages it seemed. I felt as old as the tree I sat under. When finally I looked at the sky, the sun had risen to reach mid day. I smiled to myself as I remembered that I did not have to jump up and get anything done. If I wished it, I could sit here all day long.

Suddenly, I could hear the sound of steady breathing in the silent clearing. With no animals in sight I looked over the area to see what animal or man I had missed. There was nothing. The breathing continued and I shrank back till I could get no closer to the old giant of a tree. I stood there frozen, until I realized that the breathing was that of a man not stalking me, but that of a man asleep. I let myself pry my shaking fingers from the trunk of the tree and began walking around it to see who could be sleeping in my clearing. For yes, I did consider this to be my clearing.

I clutched a large branch in my hand as I began to circle the great Oak. My father had taught me self defense before he left for the Holy Land, and five years without a man’s protection had made me hard and able to fight back, although I had yet to come across anyone stupid enough to attack the daughter of a Lord.

I stopped in shock when I saw what, or who I should say, had been making that noise. There on the other side of the tree slept a man I had never seen before. He was a giant, his length nearing two of mine and I was no short woman. His jet black hair was drawn back behind him with a leather piece of rope. His clothes were all deep green and brown in color that only enforced the dark look of him. His brow was free of lines as he slept on contentedly, with no knowledge of me as I looked on. He seemed young and yet he also had the look of someone who had seen much. As I stood there like an eejit gazing at his angular nose and jaw line I soon realized that he reminded me of someone I had known long ago.

“Little John?” I spoke before I could help myself. I immediately slapped a hand over my mouth as I realized that I had spoken my thought out loud.

With a start the giant woke and before I could mutter another word he was up and had drawn the massive bow that had lain at his side. With sleep still in his eyes he looked shocked to find well dressed young women before him with a large tree branch in her hand.

Chapter XI
~John, Solider, Homecoming~

“Little John?” I stuttered again. It was such a shock. We had been told that he was dead long ago. His family had held a funeral. What on earth was he doing in Sherwood Forest? Was this even him? He was so tall! All these thought ran through my head like a wild horse, leaving marks but still not making sense.

“Little John, is it really you?” I questioned him while keeping a strong hold on my tree branch.

“Who… who are you?” He managed to ask as his deep voice reverberated though the small clearing.

“They… they told us you were dead, John. Dead. For three years you have been dead.”

“I… Eleanor? What are you doing here?”

“What? No one but dead people are allowed here? Is that it?” I realized that I had dropped my tree branch and was standing there with my arms crossed as I stood there looking daggers at John. We had been good friends all through childhood. Our parents had been close. But four years ago when he was eighteen, his best friend, Robin of Locksley, had decided to go to the Holy Land and fight in the war there. Young John had signed up to go along with him and gain the glory and prestige that came with going to war. But one year after he had gone we received word that he was dead. Killed by a Saracen arrow. His family had been devastated. And I was with them in their grief, for short spindly Little John had always been kind to me as a young girl, even when the other boys made fun of him. He was a warm and kind soul.

“Eleanor, I can’t believe it’s you!” His deep blue eyes crinkled in his warm smile as he lowered his bow and took a step towards me. I backed away.

“How long have you been in the country? A week? A month? Your family is sick with the knowledge that you are dead. How could you let them suffer whilst you sleep under a tree?” Although I mentioned family, my real anger was at him not telling me. We had been so close. But war changed men. I had already seen it in my father.

“I’ve been here for six months. I couldn’t come to my family. You don’t understand. It’s complicated.”

“How can it be complicated? You’re back. And obviously not dead. What is so hard to explain about that?”

“Eleanor, will you sit with me?” He asked as he gestured to the ground beneath the tree, “It’s a bit of a story and may take time to tell.” And with that, be bent his large frame and sat down on the ground.

Although I was furious with him over the way he was treating the issue, I sat down with arms crossed and soon loosened as I listened to him talk. It took me back to sit there and listen to his smooth voice go over his past four years. He told of how Robin and he had joined the soldiers in the desert and had fought many battles even in the first few months of their time there. He then told of the one battle that had almost taken his life. Whilst he was still in the grips of a fever, a solider he knew who was going back to his homeland had asked Robin if he should give any message to John’s family back home. Robin had asked him to tell John’s family that John might not make it and to pray for him. But apparently the solider had taken it upon himself to tell the family that John was dead. John shook his head as I told him of the funeral and the deep grief of his family.

“When I meet Ron of Lexington again I shall kill him.” He muttered.

John then proceeded to tell of his last three years in service with Robin of Locksley. He tried to soften how horrid it had really been. But even after four years I could read him like a book and I knew that much had transpired that he might never tell me. He then spoke of when he and Robin returned to England. They soon realized that Prince John was ruining the people of England with his outrageous taxes while his brother was off fighting the war. Robin being the hot head that he is, decided that they should help a family while they were on the road home. They just happened to cross the wrong side of Prince John and had become wanted men. Little John explained that this was why he would not reveal himself to his family. It could cost them their land, wealth, and possibly their lives. He then began to excitedly tell me of what he and Robin had been doing in Sherwood Forest. Of the ‘good works’ as he called them, that they had been doing for the people of the surrounding areas.


As I walked up the road to my house, my mind was running wild with all that Little John (now Big John) had told me. I was so distracted that it didn’t faze me when Marian came running up to me all out of breath.

“Eleanor!” She gasped. “Where have you been?” And with that she grabbed my hand and dragged me back to the house.
~Aithne Someris~

Monday, July 13, 2009

Chapter 9 (Eleanor's View)

The contiuation of the "Eleanor and Marian" story that I am collaborating on with my good friend on the blog - www.notightsallowed.blogspot.com. Let us know what you think!


The fire was dying down with a crackling sound and the moon had been in the sky for hours by the time we had all finished talking that first night. We told Father of the past five years and all that had transpired in that time. Of the new sheriff and all that evil man had done. The taxation that had bled the county dry; the famines that had come and gone. And Father told us of the far desert country he had spent these long years in. The Saracens and their weapons; of battle fought and battles lost; of friends and enemies; and of his homesickness that dogged him at every turn. Father was sleeping by the time the fire was down. I had Cecily go and get blankets to cover him while Marian and I built up the fire again. I sent the girls up to bed, but I lingered down below watching the man that all our hopes were pinned on. In his sleep he twitched and his brow bunched into angry furrows. What had this war done to him?


I was up before dawn the next morning with the sky still dark and the last thought of night present. After going out for eggs I was in the kitchen beginning breakfast. Nan’s day off was every other Saturday, and so I was on my own today. I loved working in the kitchen early in the morning before everyone else was up. It gave me time to think without constant distractions.

I cracked an egg into a wooden bowl and began making biscuits. All of a sudden Father walked into the kitchen. We said good morning to each other and I turned back to my cooking. He went to the corner and sat in the rocking chair that Nan used to knit when the weather was coming up on the colder months. For quite some time we both said nothing. I worked on content with the knowledge that he was home safe and sound.

Then he spoke, “Oh Eleanor, I should never have left you here with the girls.” And he sighed.

“Father, there was a war,” I said stopping my work to look at him, “All able bodied men were called. You had to go.”

Rubbing a hand over his weary face he shook his head, “I could have paid to have another go in my place. I could have stayed and helped raise the girls. No little girl should be forced to become mother to her little sisters, when she herself was a child.”

I truly didn’t know what to say. It had been my secret thought for five years now that I should never have had to take over the care of my sisters. But the only way that could have been avoided would have been if my mother hadn’t died. But what was done was done. There was no going back. I didn’t want Father to regret what he had to do. Although he was blaming himself now, I knew that the blame would be pointed elsewhere soon enough.

“Father,” I walked over and laid my hand on his broad shoulder, “You did your duty to your country. Everyone had to make sacrifices. Even if you had stayed, we would have paid dearly in some way. And besides,” I said straitening up, “Raising the girls would have been my chore if you had stayed anyway.”

“You are a wise one, Eleanor.” Father said as he grasped my hand, “I owe you so much. How would we have gotten through these past five years without you?”

“You did your duty and I did mine.” I said with more courage than I felt. In truth, I wanted to cry.

Father let go of my hand and stared at the kitchen fire on the other side of the room. I walked over to the table and began cooking again. I wish he could throw off the dense fog of depression. It was a joyful day that he was now back home. Why keep looking at the bleak past?

“Eleanor,” he said breaking my thoughts, “Why don’t you take a day off. Go and have fun. Leave the house and go to town or something. I owe you that much at least.”

I turned to him in surprise. A day off? I couldn’t even remember the last time I had a whole day to myself. With no cooking, cleaning, sewing or watching the girls and farm animals.

“Really?” I barely dared to breathe.

“Yes. Go and wake Marian to have her finish the breakfast. You go wash up and get dressed.”

I rushed over to Father and hugged him. This gift he had just given me was worth more than anything he could have brought back from the Holy Land. I went up the stairs two at a time to wake Marian. She normally got up right as dawn was coming. She seemed to have a fascination with watching the morning color rise. Going into her room I was not surprised to see her just waking.

“Hurry up, sleepy head.” I said as I brought her clothes for the day.

“What’s with you? I’ll be down in a few minutes.” She said a bit snappily. The first hour after she woke was not her best on terms of cheerfulness.

“Father needs you to finish making breakfast.”

And with that I had left the room and was in mine getting dressed for a day of no work. Seeing as I was not going to work, I chose my best dress and my oriental shawl that Father had brought back for me.

~Aithne Someris~

Thursday, July 9, 2009

A new addition to the Jack saga

This will be my last posting of the 'Jack Saga' for quite some time. I recently had a revelation on where I'd like this story to go and what is to happen, but I will not have the time to really concentrate and write it all out until my schooling is finished. So, here is another addition, but the rest will come in a few months. And I am pretty sure that names and places may changes as well as the fact that I may go into writing it as first person and not third. But I hope you have been enjoying Jack's story so far - I've enjoyed writing him!


Jack took a sip of his Guinness all the while laughing at Ian's discomfort over the barmaid subject. Why a grown twenty year old man would be embarrassed over it was beyond him. But Brian had always been the more outgoing of the two. And therefore had been a bit more lucky with the Ladies over the years.

"Ach, Ian," Said Jack, "Just go ask her out."

"Yeah, not right now." said Ian as he brushed Jack off.

Suddenly Jack's cell phone was vibrating in his jean pocket.

Reaching to retrieve his phone, Jack apologized, "Sorry guys, but I have to take this." He said after looking at the caller ID. It was his 90 year old great grandmother who lived in a nursing home not far out in the suburbs of Dublin.

"'ello Gran" He answered.

"Jack my boy!" Cackled the voice on the other end, "How are ye, Laddie?"

"I'm doing fine, Gran. And how is my favorite lass in the world?"

"Ah, you're a smooth one, Jack Matthews, that ya are." And Jack could hear her smile through the phone.

"I've been t'inkin'," She said, "You haven't been to see me in quite some time now."

Guilt swept through Jack, "I'm sorry, Gran," He apologized, "But school's been just crazy this past month!"

"Well, to make up for it how about you come over to see yer auld Gran tomorrow?"

Jack's mind went through all that he had to get done on Tuesday. Work...school. Jack sighed as he looked out the grimy pub window out at the rain that was still pounding the city streets outside. No matter how hectic life got - family always comes first.

"Sure thing, Gran." Jack found himself saying.

"Aw, that's a good lad!" Cackled the merry voice, "And I've got a pressie 'er waitin' for ya too!"

"Oh Gran, not more of Mrs McCourt's cookies? Please no, Grannie!" Exclaimed Jack in feigned terror.

"You silly boy," Laughed Gran, "It's much better than that!"

"Well, it better not be brownies either! I can't stand the blasted stuff!"

"Do ya really t'ink that I'd bribe my great grandson with over-cooked pastries? Really boy? I thought I was better than that."

Jack laughed, "You win, Gran. You win. I'll see you tomorrow after work around two o'clock. Sound good?"

"Of course I win! Have I e'er lost?" The feisty woman challenged.

"Ok, I have to go now," Said Jack closing the conversation, "See you tomorrow!"

"Alrighty Jack-o, see you at two o'clock sharp."

"I'll be there, Gran." Jack said with a laugh, "Bye now! Love you!"

"Love you too, Jack-o." and the line clicked off.

Jack walked away from the window and slid back into his seat at the booth. Brian and Ian had almost finished their drinks by the time Jack was able to take a third sip of his.

"Your secret girlfriend again?" Inquired Brian.

Smiling, Jack answered, "Nope. Just Gran. I haven't seen her in a month and she was just calling to make sure I hadn't fallen off the face of the planet."

"Poor thing is probably lonely." Ian said, all the while glancing from his empty drink to the bar and pretty lass.

"Don't make me feel even worse than I already do!" Cried Jack as he took another swig of his Guinness and shoved his phone back into his pocket.

"So, you gonna go see her soon?" Brian asked.

"Yeah, tomorrow after work I'll head out there. I don't know when I'll get that paper research done, but I owe her."

"Well," said Brian, "We'd better get going. I'll give you a ring later about looking over the the money stuff."

"That'd be great," Jack replied, "It was good seeing you guys! Take care."

The two brothers got up, and after leaving a tip went to the front to pay their half of the bill. Jack stifled his laughter as Ian fumbled with his wallet to pay the barmaid who also worked the cash register. The man was hopeless, thought Jack. The two brothers payed and walked out of the pub with waves to Jack. After they were gone Jack sighed at the quiet that now permeated the pub.

Jack took up his now empty glass and went to return it to the bar.

"Can I help you?" Asked the bar maid.

"Just returning this." Answered Jack while handing the glass to her.

"That friend of yours is a bit of a klutz, eh." She said with a smile.

"Actually, I think he was a bit taken with you." Jack said with a smile as well.

She laughed and rolled her eyes, "And so is every man I give a Guinness to!"

"I don't think he was drunk, if that's what you're implying," Jack said defensively, "The man was genuinely infatuated with you."

"Sorry, Mate." the bar maid apologized, "It's just that working in a bar you get used to the 'infatuated' man hitting on ya. It gets old after a while."

"I understand." Jack paid his bill and went out into the now drizzling rain cascading over the city. As he walked to his appartment he thought on how much work Ian would have to do to win that bar maid. She would not be an easy woman to woo.

~Aithne Someris~

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Eleanor's Side of the Story (a collaboration on the Robin Hood tale)

I recently began collaborating on a story with a good friend of mine. We're writing a tale about the women's side of the Robin Hood story. Marian's tale will be written by my friend, while I will write the part of Eleanor, Marian's older sister. This is my first part.

To read the start - go to http://www.notightsallowed.blogspot.com/!


Eleanor’s Side of the Story
~ Chapter 5 ~
Missing, Marian, a Mess

Where is that girl? I thought impatiently as my foot inadvertently tapped on the floor. Marian had gone off to the market with Cecily earlier in the day, but Cecily had just returned from Locksley. Without Marian. Marian had gone off to get candles only to not been seen since, said Cecily with a pout on her large red lips. After waiting forever, Cecily had decided that Marian could walk home by herself.

I shook my head, What was that girl thinking? Father was due home at any time now and there was much to do before he got here. After fighting in the Crusade for five years, Father was on his way home. Why would Marian choose now to go missing? Many prayers had been said and now that Father was on his way back, we had made preparations for a small feast in his honor. I had sent Marian out half to get her out of my hair and half because we really did need those candles. But now she was gone. Why must she always be so flighty? It was our Mother’s blood in her, that’s what. I went cold for a moment, allowing the hidden memories of my beloved Mother to surface for a small time. She had died ten years past and I had never truly gotten over it. I shook myself; time to get to work.


“Cecily!” I called out.

“What?” Answered my youngest sister from the other room where she was arranging wild flowers for Father, “I’m almost finished!”

“Cecily, has Marian come back yet?”

Cecily looked at me with her big green eyes. It was like seeing my Father look out at me, “I haven’t seen her.” Cecily shrugged, “Sorry.”

I sighed, “It’s not your fault. If only Marian could keep herself still for long enough to help us…” I let my thought trail off. My mind was roving over what could have possibly kept Marian away from a day like this. Suppose she was not just avoiding work, but truly in trouble?

Chapter Six
Father, Solider, Joy

As I went around the house tidying up for the hundredth time, a loud commotion soon reached my ears. It seemed to be coming from the kitchen, and as I looked in, there was Marian. Knee deep in mud, her light brown hair cascading over her shoulders loose from it previous bond of a ribbon, and a deep brown smear on her back completed her ensemble. As I stepped in to the kitchen I could smell something permeating from her. It was…ew…dung! All my pleasure at seeing her alive and well rushed out of me at the sight of her stinking up my kitchen and looking like a village idiot as she stood there letting Cecily and Nan, our cook, clean her up.

“Where have you been all this time?” I said as I stepped into the warm kitchen, “Rolling with the pigs?”

“No!” Sputtered Marian, “I have not!” And her deep blue eyes turned the color of a sea tempest raging at the injustice of the world. How dare she make it sound like I did something wrong!

Continued to try and pry from her what had happened, but to no avail. She refused to explain. I soon set into her with all my elder sister might over what a proper young lady of the realm should look like after a day at market. But I was only met with indifference which I could not stand. But for all her raggle taggle appearance, she had a strange look in her eye. It was as if she held a secret and dared not share it with the world. I would have to work hard to reach this part of her.

“Go to your room and change this instant!” I told her a bit more severely than I meant to. Why must my temper always flare up with this young sister of mine?


I sat in the rocking chair near the fire stitching when the sound of a horse coming near was heard. I leapt off of the chair and nearly flew to the door to peer out praying that it was Father. Heavy boots could be heard tromping up the stairs to our front door. A weary knock soon tapped at the door. I flung it open to see Father standing there. He looked nothing like the man we had said good-bye to five years past. In his stead stood a weary solider.

I couldn’t help it as I flung myself into his arms, “Father!” I could hear myself squeal, but I cared not that it was un-lady like. His large muscled arm circled my and he seemed to be breathing a sigh of relief.

“Oh Eleanor, lass.” He said as I clutched him to me, “I’ve missed ya so!”

“And I’ve missed you, Father! Ever so much!” I said chokingly.

He let me down, “And where are my other little ladies?” He roared loudly in his deep voice. It was paradise to hear it ring in the halls again!

“Father!” Shrieked Cecily as she ran to him, her flaming red hair trailing behind her.

I stood and watched as my drained Father reached out to her and embraced her. I took the time to look at my Father and how much he had changed since I last saw him. His fiery red hair was now streaked with gray and dirt. His rough hands worn and bruised. His clothes seemed to hang on him, subjecting that he had lost weight over in the Holy Land.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

A Wee Bit More (Jack's Story Continues)

Hello All!

I have a wee bit more from the Jack story and thought that I'd get it out there and hear your thoughts! As always, I've been too busy to completely edit it, so take it with a grain of salt, and the knowledge that it will be edited and built on at a later date...


Jack just laughed at the brother's comments, it was all good natured fun.

"So, how's the tour business going?" Asked Jack.

"Oh, you know, always a steady steam of 'em." Brian answered.

"Although business could be better," Ian ran a hand over his face. He suddenly seemed very tired, "With the economy as it is, the last thing people are doing is taking guided tours of Ireland with a couple of blokes like us. We don't even have the accent!"

Brian sighed, "Yeah, it's not what it used to be."

"But you guys are doing ok, right? I mean, you let me know if money gets tight." Jack was worried about the brothers; it wasn't like the Browne boys to be down cast. Optimism was always near with them. The were naturally a happy go lucky pair.
"No way, Man." Ian immediately protested, "There is no way we would ever take money from you. Besides, business is just down. It's not like were poor or settling for scraps yet." And the cocky grin that Jack knew so well settled on Ian's face once more.
"If you're sure." Said Jack with a shrug.
"We are." Ian asserted.
Ian let out a sigh and then looked from his brother next to him to Jack on the other side of the booth. "How 'bout I order a round of the black stuff, eh? I feel like some Guinness right about now."
Brian grinned, "You know I never pass say no to that! As long as you're paying, Bro."
Ian turned to Jack, "How about you?"
"Do you even have to ask? It's like you don't even know me!" Scoffed Jack with a chuckle.
"Alrighty then!" And Ian was off to get the drinks pulled.
After Ian had left, Brian turned to Jack, "He's trying hard not to let it, but this slow time is really getting to him. He stays up all night trying to get the numbers to work. I'm starting to worry about him." Brian began rubbing his gottee, a habit of his when thinking hard over something.
"You know I was a business major back in college," Said Jack, "Why don't you boys let me look it over?"
"Seriously?" Brian's grey eyes lit up, "I mean, I'd hate to ask it of you, but-"
"No, it's really no problem." Jack quickly replied, "I had mine as well use all that learning my dad made me get."
"Man," Said Ian as he came back from the bar, "They take long enough to pull the darn stuff!"
As Ian set the tall frothing drinks on the table, he looked back at the bar. Leaning back, Jack sought to see what had caught Ian's attention. He was just in time to see the pretty young barmaid wink in their direction and Ian nod toward her. Jack chuckled.
"So, that's why you wanted a sip of the black stuff, eh Ian?"
"What?" Ian exclaimed innocently, "I have no idea what you're talking about, mate."
Brian laughed loudly as he reached for his drink, "You always were the transparent one, old boy."
"Oh, leave off it, Brian." Ian said as his color rose in his face.
And that's about it for now! I've got a bit more up my sleeve, but we'll just have to wait till I have more time to write! Let me know what'cha think!
~Aithne Someris~

Sunday, June 21, 2009

Jack's Saga Continues...

While working at the library this week, a whole new side of the story I had planned came to me (or characters, you could say). I ended up changing a lot of what I had originally planned - here's a rough draft of the start:


Jack pushed open the door to the Tripp In Pub, walking from pouring rain to a warm, yellow lit room lined with booths and stools at the bar. Shaking the rain from his dark unruly hair, he shuffled to a booth in a shadowy back corner. Rain continued to fall heavily on the city streets outside. Shrugging off his soaked rain coat, he hung it on the rack attached to his booth. Folding his tall frame into the seat, he watched the door of the pub expectantly.

Brian and Ian Browne were to meet Jack at 3:15 exactly. Jack glanced at his watch; 3:10. He had five minutes to himself. Reaching into his back pocket, Jack pulled out a paperback book; something he always kept on him. It was common knowledge by all who knew him well that Jack was never without a book. Today his pocket yielded Stephen Lawhead's "Song of Albion" book two. He settled himself in the booth and ordered a black coffee while he waited for his mates.

Ian was the first to burst into the fairly deserted pub. Brian was not far behind as the two loud American brothers made their way to Jack's booth, complaining all the while over the amount of rain in this soggy country.

"Hey! Jack, my man, how are ya doin'?" Exclaimed Ian exuberantly as he slapped Jack on the back and proceeded to sit down.

"Hey Boyo! How's it going?" Brian said just as loudly.
"I'm good. I'm good." Jack said with a nod and a smile.

The two brothers were his best friends here in this foreign land. They had met at a youth hostel in Dublin over a year ago. And upon learning that not only were they all American, but also had Wisconsin in common, an immediate bond had been forged. The two Browne brothers were big, loud, and a bit on the rough and tumble side. But most definitely the kind of men and mates you always wanted by your side in a tough place. Although Jack was more of the intellectual type, they had hit it off not two minutes after meeting each other.

"So," Began Brian after they had all ordered some fish and chips, "How's that fancy paper you're writing coming along?"

"Slowly, I'm afraid." Jack answered with a sigh.

The paper in question was Jack's Master's degree thesis. Two years ago, Jack had gotten his BA in business, only to realize that he had no idea what he wanted to do. All those years of planning for college had paid off. Only to leave Jack standing there with all goals met, but nothing planned for the future. Everything had ground to a halt at graduation. Jack had a BA in business, but utterly no passion to go into that field. Brian Matthews, Jack's father, had persuaded Jack in the direction of business, and Jack had complied. Although Jack's real passion was history and folklore, he had put it all aside to follow his father's wishes.

With business diploma in hand, Jack had breathed out a sigh of relief. He was free. But he could feel a weight fall onto his shoulders; now that he was a free man, what was he to do? Plunge into the business world? Or return to where his true passion, history and folklore, waited for him?
Jack had struggled much that summer. The question of what came next hanging over him like a dark could ready to burst. But the weight was lifted after Jack spent short a time in solitude. He went out camping, and for two days and nights, he kept to solitude, fasting, and prayer. During this time, one picture was laid heavily on his mind: a rich green landscape with rolling hills and coastline in the near distance. And one word was echoing in his head every time he saw this: Erin, the true name of Ireland. And so Jack had an answer.

Which brings us to the present day. Jack had come to Ireland and began a Master's degree program for an Irish history and folklore major. He loved it and worked hard for every A he gained, earning him a wonderful reputation with each and every professor.

But Jack was nearing the end now. After the thesis was complete, the college would hand him a master's degree in Irish folklore and history. The question now was what to do with it.

"What's holding you up? I thought this paper was the epitome of your study for the past two years." Brian inquired as he picked up a couple of fries off his plate.

"I don't really know," Jack said as he drained the last of his coffee, "I chose such a broad topic, "Faeries and Their Relationship with the People of Ireland", but I'm really getting no where with it."

"Well, what did you expect with the fair folk?" Laughed Ian.

"I know they don't like to be spoken of, but do they hold the same policy for being written about?"

"Who knows with the fey folk." Brian answered with a grin.

Brian and Ian were always teasing Jack about his fascination with mythological beings. They both thought him just a bit daft. Or queer, as their mum liked to call it. But all in all the three young men got along quite well together. As fellow strangers in a strange land, their bond was solid.
This is, as I've said before, a rough draft with much more to come. I can already see editing that needs to be done... but that could take a lot longer than I have today! I hoped you enjoyed this start of the journey, and comments would be most welcome!

Thursday, June 18, 2009

~The Time Between Times~

This poem was my first attempt at free verse. With Kevin Kern playing in the background, this is what flowed from the pen....
Fleeting ever, Lost in heather
Where can it be, No one to see
Faeries dance, Make romance
Emeralds sparkle, While faeries chuckle
Little ones sleep, While stars wink
Faeries twirling, Moon whirling
Flowers sigh, As changelings go by
Willow bends, As time suspends
Summer air weaves, As faeries dance in the leaves
The High King proceeds, As he walks through the trees
Moon beams splay, On the delicate array
Tinkling of glasses, And the swooshing of classes
Tender sighs, Love lullabies
Slim reeds, Dance in the breeze
Time stands still, For good or for ill
Where can it be, No one to see
Flower decorations, For clothing creations
Starlight, Keeps faeries alight
Graceful sways, Moonlight obeys
Feathers wave, Faeries parade
Rolling hills, Over heather spills
Faeries glow with light, High King takes delight
Wings flutter, voices meld like butter
Music rises, No compromises
The High King's procession, To make a decision
Wife to be, Who will it be
Breath catches, Neck stretches
The High King splendidly arrayed, For this midnight parade
Searches the crowd, All bowed
White gold glitters, Catches eye to shimmer
Air is still, For good or for ill
Eyes meet, Acknowledge and greet
The King has found his bride, Faerie realm now to survive
Outstretched hand, Unspoken demand
She places hers in his, For true love this is
Faeries to rejoice, For she has made her choice
The King smiles at his beloved, She smiles - oh, how she loves it!
Royal blue eyes meet palest of green, sparks fly in between
For a year and a day, The celebration will be under way
Love and laughter reign, Till spring is here again
A wedding to proclaim, One to take a name
Say the vows, Turn to greet the bows
Light hearts all, Even the small
Forever and a day, They will stay

Jack's Saga (so far)

This is a story I have been working on for the past month. I'm not yet sure what to call it, but I'm sure a name will come to me soon...


As Jack walked through the drenching torrents of rain, he marveled anew at the city that was Dublin. It had changed drastically in just the past 5 years. He passed a Starbucks on his left. That never would have been there just a short while ago. Jack smiled to himself at just how quickly Ireland had transformed itself. For hundreds upon hundreds of years conquering foreigners had sought out the isle of Saints and Scholars. Destroying any and all chance of wealth and hope for the native people. Eventually, all the misty island knew was poverty and hunger. Up until recently that was all the common Irishman expected out of life. But something miraculous happened in the last hundred years: Ireland threw off the heavy yoke of the English rule. Soon the Irish were able to build a thriving economy, and the people quickly grasped at the wealth that their island held. So that today, Ireland has one of the healthiest economies in the world. The Celtic Tiger was on the rise. And yet, chuckled Jack, they still had the mind set of a poverty stricken people. Many Irishman were quite rich indeed, but went around as if they had nothing but a Euro to their name. But through it all, Ireland strove to be like its neighbors. Throwing itself headlong into becoming just like America, France, and yes, even England. So that today many tourists come to Ireland for the sheep, rolling hills, and lilting accent only to find a McDonald's and Starbucks on every corner. Many are quite devastated to find Ireland more of a green version of their hometown than a land filled with jolly people who all believe in the fair folk. What they don't understand is that, just like home, you can't live on sheep and pixie dust for long. To make it in this age you must rise to the times.

That's just a rough draft of the beginning. I wanted to get solid concrete footing for which Ireland this story is set in, although I've been worrying that I may have made it a bit too long. After this section the story gets going a lot faster and much more happens. When I have time, I'll be posting more!

Hello Everyone!

My name is Aithne Someris and I'm 18 years old and I will be using this blog to post my writing. I love writing anything from poems to stories. I prefer to write fantasy with a real world twist, and a strong bent towards gaelic and celtic roots - hope you enjoy it!

A bit about me: I am a home school alum, I was home schooled from ages 5-16. When I was 16 I quit High School to start college. I am currently a college senior with 102 credits. Over the years I haven't had much time to write, but in the last few months I was able to get quite a bit down on paper. I hope to post my first poem sometime today!

Please keep in mind that all of my writing is not edited as of yet, and is what I call 'raw' writing. Any grammerical issues will be cleaned up as soon as possible.I hope you enjoy what is to come - and comments are welcome! I want to know what you think!